A particularly bad day.

We lost a cat today. M called me at work, freaking out because Amelia had apparently slipped out the front door when one of us left this morning. Let me tell you, spending your afternoon making LOST CAT posters is really bad for the psyche. 

It started to pour when I left work today and despite the rain, I walked slowly because I knew I was going home to a home that was a little less homey since there would be no Amelia. I stopped in a Duane Reade to buy some tape, my bag full of LOST CAT posters clutched to my chest, and while I'm in line waiting to pay this sappy song comes on and because I'm already emotional, I start ugly-crying in the middle of the store. I get myself calmed down just in time to make my purchase, but I'm pretty sure I look upset. Doesn't matter to the girl at the counter though. She is a COMPLETE BALL LICKER as she rings me up. What is it with service people in this city? I still don't get it. As I'm walking home the thunder and lightening starts and the wind blows my umbrella inside out and my little summer dress is getting soaked and so is the bag with the LOST CAT fliers and I can barely walk because believe it or not it is really hard to walk in the rain in flip flops, and the whole time I'm beating myself up about how I don't deserve to have pets and only an idiot asshole loser would lose her cat and Amelia deserves a better life than the one I've given her, but now she's probably smushed on the side of the road somewhere, her little body lifeless and bloody. Or maybe she's alive, but she's terrified and crouched under a dumpster, wet and shivering and frightened and it's all my fault because I uprooted my tiny family and dragged them to this huge scary awful city where the cars drive too fast and people are assholes and it rains ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

As soon as I get home I start plastering my apartment building with the soggy fliers and within five minutes this girl knocks on my door to tell me she has my cat. Amelia ran out of our apartment, up two flights of stairs, and into this girl's apartment just as she was rushing off to work. She didn't come by sooner because she was late for work but she's home now and would I mind coaxing Amelia out from behind her toilet?

Amelia's fine. She's fine. She just ate a six ounce can of tuna and she is fine, but I am not. I am having a hard time shaking this sad sad sad feeling. I just want to curl up and hide from the world.